Forbidden
Secret affairs, taboo desires, the thrill of the forbidden
31 stories
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—and then you handed me the robe
I could still smell the chlorine and that expensive sandalwood oil on my collarbones while I watched you walk toward the elevator.
Tell Him You're Tired
I watched the way the condensation on your gin glass mirrored the fine, frantic sweat beginning to break across your collarbone.
Heavy Hollow
He didn't just touch my hip; he recalibrated my entire nervous system with the pressure of a thumb against my iliac crest.
The Grey Seamless
I spent three hours trying to treat you like a layout, a series of shadows and highlights to be managed, but you kept breaking the frame.
"I've Been Watching You Since the Anchor Dropped"
Your neck is the color of bleached bone under the deck lights, and I can see the pulse there, erratic as a dying bird.
"It's Probably a Breach of Contract"
The condensation on her glass is the only thing wetter than the silk shift she wore specifically to ruin my concentration.
—and it wasn’t even the good tequila
His hand was doing things to my composure that a three-year non-compete clause could never justify, especially with his wife ten feet away.
The Massage Suite
I told myself I was assessing the range of motion in your glenohumeral joint, but I was actually memorizing the heat of your skin.
I Should Have Ignored Her First Message
The silk of her dress was thinner than I expected, barely a barrier between my calloused palm and the heat of her hip.
I Probably Should Have Just Stayed in Savasana
I can feel the phantom weight of your hand on my hip while I’m standing at the podium, a ghost-press that ruins my posture.
Why Are You Looking at the Exit?
His thumb pressed into the nerve bundle at the base of my skull, and for a second, the world went white-out.
Do You Still Taste Like the Salt in Marseille?
The yacht hummed beneath our feet like a living thing, a white fiberglass cage that felt smaller with every mile we put between us and the coast.